


The Things Dean Winchester Does for Love

by dreamedofwings (fabre)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Pteromerhanophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabre/pseuds/dreamedofwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants to kill Sam.</p><p>Okay, so Dean doesn't want him dead for real, but when that stupidly large moose went and got himself a two year internship at some hotshot lawyer's office, did he really have to do it all the way across the Atlantic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please Fasten Your Seatbelts

Dean wants to kill Sam.

Okay, so Dean doesn't want him dead  _for real_ , but when that stupidly large moose went and got himself a two year internship at some hotshot lawyer's office, did he really have to do it  _all the way across the Atlantic_?

When Dean was a teen and Sam had been a still-yet-to-become-a-moose ten year old, daydreaming out loud about seeing everything the world had to offer, he'd made a promise to himself. Dean would work his ass off to make sure his little brother got a chance to do everything he dreamed of... but he'd never, ever,  _ever_  get his ass on a plane. Nuh uh. No way.

Of course, in reality, all it had taken to break his resolve had been one damned set of puppy eyes over Skype and Dean had been sold. Damn technology to hell and back, this was why he didn't want to 'keep up with the times'.

It had been a year since Sammy had gone and Dean had missed him, he'd missed him like one misses a limb, but video calling had made the wound bleed a little less harshly -- getting to see how happy his brother looked out there living his dream, beaming so brightly while he told Dean all about how impressed his new boss was with him, how everyone was so nice to him in the office.

It didn't make Dean miss him any less, but it made the wait for him to return a little more bearable.

But how did Dean end up on a plane? Oh, it was him and his big mouth alright. His own damn fault. He'd mentioned to Sam in passing how he had some vacation days coming up at the garage, and really, Dean should have known Sam was up to something from the way he started taking notes off camera for a moment, returning his attention to Dean with a glint in his eye he could see even through the pixelated image of the video call.

Two weeks later, Sam casually mentioned how there was going to be a big, fancy event at the firm he was working at and how he was getting some kind of award, something about being the biggest nerd at the office or something like that ("The Best Performing Intern Award, Dean. It's a real honor to get it on your first year." The bitchface that had accompanied the outraged correction had been so priceless Dean had taken a screenshot and was now using it as Sam's contact photo on his cell, to his brother's horror.), and he had some vacation time he could use right after the ceremony, and  _wouldn't it be just perfect_  if Dean could come visit him so he could see him get his award? And then they could hang out for a week!

Yeah, absolutely perfect  _if Dean wasn't terrified of flying_.

But Sam? Sam was sneaky and he always got what he wanted. He'd been raised by the best, after all.

See, Sam had already asked his boss and had gotten the okay for it all, and he'd also called Bobby, Dean's boss, to ask him if Dean could have his vacation then, and because  _no one ever cared about what Dean wanted_ , Bobby had said yes and assured Sam he'd make sure Dean was on that plane even if he had to strap him into his seat and sedate him to keep him there himself.

Christ.

Okay, so Dean really is looking forward to seeing his brother. It's been a year! Of course he's missed him and wants to see him.

He just also wants to hurt him. Just a little.

Dean closes his eyes and leans his head back against the headrest, trying to remember to keep breathing. Jesus. They haven't even taken off yet and he's already regretting his decision to get on this damned plane. Bobby had, true to his word, accompanied him to the airport, though he couldn't really walk through security to make sure Dean got on the plane, so he did his second best and looked around before handing Dean a flask he seemed to produce from nowhere, telling him to "Drink up 'fore you get us both arrested, you idjit." See, some people give you a hug before a trip, but Bobby Singer? Oh no, he gives you a shot of dirt cheap rum that makes you cough up a lung and a pat on the back (and still, Dean knows that's his way of showing he cares).

A soft "Excuse me," muttered in a deep baritone drags Dean back to the present, and his eyes open unconsciously as he notices the man standing by him on the aisle, clearly trying to get to the window seat on Dean's right.

Dean mutters a generic apology and stands to let him pass, noticing as the stranger squeezes his way past him in the tight space of the tourist cabin a hint of aftershave and something woody, strong enough to be noticed but not unpleasant -- not at all.

He feels a little idiotic, getting distracted by some stranger's smell, but hey, it's a distraction and Dean had been in the middle of the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack, so he's gonna take his blessings where he finds them, thank you very much.

It's a little harder to stay distracted once the captain's voice comes over the plane's intercom and the flight attendants start getting the plane ready for departure, but Dean tries his very best to remember to breathe and to focus on the small folded table in front of him, counting the little dots that form patterns on its back and grabbing a hold of both armrests like his life depends on it (he knows it's kinda rude that he commandeered the one in the middle since he and Mr. Woodsy are supposed to share it, but  _fuck that shit_ , Dean's not letting go until they land on the other side of the ocean).

Fuck. The plane starts to move towards the takeoff lane and Sam better be grateful Dean loves him, because he wouldn't do this for anyone else.

The plane starts gaining speed and Dean swallows back a litany of profanities that want to escape him right now, because he's a grown up and he can do this and it's only 8 hours to London and --- the plane rattles as it takes off and "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Okay, hopefully Dean's seatmate brought a pair of earphones because this is gonna be a ride with commentary on the side and he'd feel kind of sorry for the guy, except he's too busy being  _terrified out of his mind_.

\---

It's been four hours and everyone else seems to be trying to get some sleep, but Dean's so wired up he's certain he wouldn't be able to catch any shuteye even if he tried -- hell, he'll be lucky if he manages to use the bathroom for a week at this point.

Freaking Atlantic with its freaking turbulence and wind currents and gravity and--

Dean's in the middle of squeezing the life out of the armrest when he hears a sigh, and the man to his right, who he'd incorrectly assumed to be asleep since he looked all cozy leaning against the window, shifts to face Dean.

"You should attempt to get some sleep."

Dean snorts and tightens his grip a little, keeping his eyes on the in flight movie currently playing on the cabin's shared screen, "Afraid I can't be doing that. See, I gotta find out if the girl's gonna be reunited with her Jack Baueresque father before those bad guys can rob the bank and kill him. What if she doesn't make it in time?"

"That movie ended before dinner was served. She did. What you are currently watching is a documentary on the life expectancy of Titan beetles."

Dean blinked and actually focused for a second on the screen. Which was full of giant beetles. Damn it.

"I thought it was weird how they were suddenly in a forest. Seemed like a weird plot twist, but after you've seen sparkling vampires, you think you've seen it all."

The man was watching him and Dean was distracted enough to feel a bit embarrassed about it, hesitant to return the gaze for what he would find in it -- only it carried nothing of what he was expecting. There was no annoyance or pity, only curiosity.

"Why are you on a plane if you suffer from such a severe case of pteromerhanophobia?"

The question threw him off, just like pretty much everything else about this stranger, which was probably why he found himself relaxing his grip slightly.

"First of all, gesundheit to you. And second, not that it's any of your business, but I'm visiting my baby brother. Trust me, if he'd moved anywhere else, I'd be driving. But no, he had to choose the only place where you can't go on a car."

"Actually," the man's voice was very matter of fact, "there are many places in the world you cannot access by car alone."

There was an awkward pause while Dean tried to figure out whether he was being made fun of, but the continued silence and the clear earnestness in the man's face quickly made him see that wasn't the case.

Dean didn't know why, but the way the other man was watching him, so completely unaware of how awkward it was to be caught in a silent staring match with a complete stranger, so clearly beyond the normal rules of interaction, managed to get a snort out of him, and before he knew it was trying to stifle his laughter for fear of waking the other passengers, quite honestly driven to laughter by the ridiculousness of the situation and, really, mental exhaustion after four hours of nothing but stress.

"Buddy, you sure are something. Dean Winchester." He finally got the laughter under control and managed to offer a hand to his seatmate, who cocked his head to the side for a moment too long before reaching forward to return the handshake -- it didn't give Dean the impression that he was going to reject the introduction, so much as that he wasn't sure how to go about it.

"Castiel Novak. Why are we exchanging names?"  
  
"Well, I figured it made sense, since we're gonna be spending the next four hours stuck together in this metal deathtrap." His charming patented Winchester grin gets interrupted by a bit of turbulence, which thankfully doesn't last very long, but still manages to have him cursing and clinging back to his armrest for dear life. "Jesus fucking Christ."  
  
"You curse a lot." Castiel notes helpfully, and Dean spares him a glare in between his freak out, but the man continues obliviously, "Perhaps you do not know this, but it is actually safer to fly than it is to drive. Statistics show--."  
  
"Cas," Dean interrupts, not even caring about the fact that he's just shortened some stranger's name, because seriously, who names their kid Castiel? Talk about a mouthful. "No offense, but I couldn't give less of a fuck about statistics right about now. Kind of in the middle of a freak out?"  
  
"Oh." Rather than offended, Castiel just looks like he had a revelation, "You are absolutely right. In this state, you cannot help your body's highly illogical response."  
  
"Hey! I resent that."  
  
But does Castiel listen to Dean's objection? Of course he doesn't. He just carries on like he was never interrupted.  
  
"What you need is a distraction." Castiel looks around them resolutely, focusing on the documentary for a second before seeming to discard it, his eyes shifting from object to object until finally coming to rest on the blanket still draped over him, eyes lighting up with an idea (and if Dean wasn't so busy worrying about his  _life ending in a crashing fireball of death and horror_ , he'd be finding it a little adorable). "Let me..." He shift a little more on his seat so he's leaning on his side more comfortably, facing Dean and whoa, suddenly he's super close, and okay, consider Dean sufficiently distracted because that sound? It's not the sound of his panicking over the flying so much as his heart trying to beat out of his chest because Cas' eyes are so blue up close and maybe Dean's eyes stray a little to look down at chapped lips.  
  
And then, before he can process it all, there's darkness.  
  
"What the-?"  
  
He feels the soft fabric of the blanket shift against him where it's covering them both and suddenly there's a forehead pressed against his, and slow, soft breathing against his lips, "Shh. Close your eyes. Focus on my breathing."  
  
And Jesus fucking Christ, easier said than done, because he's focusing on the other man's breathing alright, just not for the right reasons. He clenches the armrest between them a little harder and it triggers two things at once: a hand buries itself on the back of his hair, grounding him, while another covers his own on the armrest, squeezing his fingers gently, reassuringly, trying to get him to let go.  
  
"Dean." That voice was appealing before, but now, underneath the blanket, where it's intimate and soft and  _so close_ , it's like ground sex in his ears (and someone should really bottle that up and sell it -- it's just  _that_ good).  
  
Dean has to swallow past the rock in his throat before he can respond, his mouth feeling parched. "Y-Yeah?"  
  
The voice chastises him. "You are breathing faster."   
  
Well, fuck this guy, of course he's close to hyperventilating. "Y-Yep, sounds about right."

The hand on his hair leaves its place to rest over his heart, "You also seem to be suffering from tachycardia."  
  
What was this? State the obvious hour? "What, are you a doctor now?"  
  
"No, I am a Historian." A pause, "Oh, you meant that sarcastically."   
  
He sounded almost pleased with himself for having caught that.  _For fuck's sake_ , Dean shouldn't find that the most adorable thing in the world. "Cas."  
  
"Yes, Dean?"  
  
"The last time I was this close to someone under a blanket, both of us weren't wearing any clothes, if you catch my drift."  
  
"Oh."  
  
There's silence. Which is okay with Dean, seeing as how he's busy trying to slow down his heart and resolutely killing the disappointment at knowing that, any minute now, Castiel is going to pull back and remove his blanket and then he's probably gonna try and request another seat, preferably as far away from Dean as humanly possible.  
  
Only, that's not what happens.  
  
"Would that help?"  
  
"... Huh?"  
  
Dean doesn't get a response to his carefully worded question, because then warm lips are pressing up against his, almost tentatively, like the owner isn't quite sure what he's doing but eager to try and figure it out nonetheless.  
  
And that's it, ladies and gentlemen, Dean's brain has exploded or he's hallucinating or something, but then he feels those chapped lips trying to pull back because Dean still hasn't responded and  _no_ ,  _he can't let them get away_ , so Dean buries his hand in the back of Cas' soft hair, bringing him closer (when did he let go of the armrest?), shifting in his seat so they can do this more comfortably. His heart's still trying to beat its way out of his chest, but Dean doesn't even care anymore, because then Cas is tentatively parting his lips and he is  _not_  going to waste that invitation, so he presses closer, grunting when the armrest between them digs into his ribs uncomfortably.  
  
"Fuck." He curses against Cas' lips, not wanting to pull back, but having to do it so he can lift that damned piece of metal up and away from them, and then  _it's so much better_ , because he can press even closer to the other man and Cas makes a pleased little sound in the back of his throat when they go back to kissing and it's  _so good_  and Cas is so warm and-- Dean has no idea how long they've been going at it, but he only stops when someone clears their throat very pointedly next to them, and when they take the blanket off there's a clearly annoyed but also incredibly embarrassed flight attendant next to their seat, who gives them the evil eye and only leaves once they've straightened up in their seats and aren't looking like they're about to jump under the blanket again.   
  
Dean feels fifteen again and he barely manages to keep from laughing at the disgruntled expression on her face (clearly she'd gotten the short end of the stick when they'd been deciding who'd come separate them), but he can't even care about that when he turns to look at Cas, whose hair is all mussed up from being under the blanket for so long and from Dean running his hands through it, cheeks an adorable rosy color that Dean wouldn't mind seeing again and again. "Well. Guess we got busted." For some reason, he can't stop grinning.   
  
Castiel is staring at him with a small amused grin of his own and, man, his hair must be a mess too, but when he reaches up to fix it Cas' hand intercepts his and does it for him, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary -- not that Dean's about to complain.  
  
"Seems that way."  
  
The silence stretches between them, but it's not uncomfortable, which seems surprising considering they're still staring at each other, grinning like idiots, and Dean's very aware that he should look away (but he can't bring himself to care).

  
\---  
  
"Uh, so. When are you flying back?"   
  
They've finally arrived in London and they're waiting for their luggage, when Dean's suddenly very aware of the fact that he may never see Castiel again. Blue eyes look up from the conveyor belt in front of them at his question and suddenly Dean's nerves from the plane ride seem to come back tenfold.

"On the 26th." Castiel pauses to pick up his suitcase as it scrolls past them, "And you?"  
  
"The 24th." The other man looks almost disappointed and Dean can't help it. The idiotic grin is back. "But," Blue eyes meet his, "I should probably spend a couple more days here. Y'know, to see the sights."  
  
The smile that Cas gives him then is beautiful, and something in Dean's gut tells him that this is something he should cling to with all his might -- because it might just be what he's been looking for all his life. And judging from the way Cas is fidgeting, clearly fighting with himself before he reaches inside his coat pocket and extracts a card and a pencil, scribbling something on it before he hands it to Dean, well... the feeling might just not be one sided.  
  
"I will see you on the 26th, then."   
  
Dean winks at him. "It's a date."  
  
Cas laughs at that and pauses for a moment, looking to the side and then up at Dean, seeming to make up his mind as he leans forward to plant a quick peck on Dean's lips, "Have a good vacation, Dean Winchester."  
  
And with that, Castiel walks away.  
  
Dean watches him go with that stupid grin still stuck on his face, only to finally remember where he is when he recognizes his suitcase from the corner of his eye, already having passed him and well out of his reach, "Shit!" He hurries after it.

\---

  
It's only once he's in the car with Sam that he remembers to read the card he was given, smiling as he notes the phone number conveniently placed under ' _Castiel Novak. PhD in Ancient History. Consulting Professor at University of Kansas._ '  
  
But then he remembers Cas wrote something on it, so he flips it.  
  
And Dean can't help it. He laughs out loud.  
  
On the back, written neatly is a simple: ' _22A_ '.  
  
When Sam asks him what's up, Dean shakes his head and distracts him with tales from Bobby's. But on the inside, his stomach is full of butterflies.  
  
For once, he's looking forward to his next flight.


	2. Please Prepare for Gate Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s resolve doesn’t last until the 26th.

Dean’s resolve doesn’t last until the 26th.   
  
A day after his flight, he’s in Sam’s apartment, in the process of trying to find something decent to watch on TV. Sam’s ceremony is taking place on the next day, so of course Sam still has to go to work like a good boy until then. Which means Dean’s been left to his own devices for the time being.

He’s been playing with Castiel’s card for about an hour, flipping it over and over and trying to pretend he’s actually paying attention to whatever’s on TV, rather than considering for the nth time whether it’d seem too needy to call the guy after less than 24 hours.  
  
In the end, he decides sending a text seems harmless enough and picks up his phone from the needlessly stylish coffee table (Jesus, it even looks like it came straight out of a freaking catalogue. Seriously,  _his brother_ ), typing out a quick ‘hey’. He takes a deep breath and presses the  _send_ button before he loses his nerve. 

He places his phone back on the table (because he’s not desperate —  _not at all_ ), ready to go back to his incredibly interesting show about… whatever this show is about — only, shit, he forgot to say who he was, and what if Cas gets a bunch of texts from strangers all the time? He grabs his phone and is in the middle of typing his name, when it suddenly gives a little ‘ding’ and the screen shows a new message.  
  
’ _Hello, Dean._ ’  
  
The perfectly punctuated text makes him chuckle, and he quickly erases what he was writing. 

'hey yourself. how'd you know it was me?'

It takes Cas a minute or two to answer, but when the message comes through, well, Dean gets why.  
  
’ _It is eleven in the morning in London and you have an American area code. Considering we have at least a five hour time difference and I know of no one who would be texting me at such an hour aside from my brother Gabriel, who I’m currently staying with, it seemed unlikely that it could be anyone else._ ’  
  
'damn, sherlock'  
  
This time, the reply’s quick to come.  
  
’ _I am no detective, Dean.’_

Before Dean can reply, a new message comes in.  
  
’ _I’m afraid I could not “pull off” a deerstalker._ ’  
  
The unexpected message makes him pause for a moment, but Dean can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.   
  
'cas, did you just make a joke?'

‘ _I tried. Did I succeed?_ ’  
  
Dean’s grinning like an idiot, but he can’t bring himself to care.  
  
'yes. yes you did'

‘ _Good.’  
  
_ Dean doesn’t know why (it’s stupid — he just met the guy), but he can picture Cas’ pleased little smile at having made him laugh, and it makes his heart beat a little faster. Makes him want to see it in person.  
  
He shifts on the sofa, scratching the back of his head a bit nervously, an idea already half-forming in his head, but unsure about how to make it happen.  
  
"… Screw it." Dean Winchester doesn’t get flustered like a thirteen year old with a first crush. He does not. He is an adult and he’s hot and he’s  _smooth_.  
  
'hey cas. someday when you're not busy with your brother you maybe wanna grab a cup of coffee?'

Okay, maybe not so smooth, but whatever, at least he asked.  
  
His phone rings, Cas’ phone number flashing on the caller ID. Scratch all that bullshit about Dean being an adult, his heart starts beating in his ears so quickly he doesn’t even have time to clear his throat before he’s pressing the button to answer.   
  
"Hello?" Crap, he’s pretty sure his voice just cracked.  
  
” _I’m free right now_.” Cas’ voice is just as deep and pleasant to listen to as it was yesterday, and, as a bonus, he sounds just as flustered as Dean does.  
  
Dean grins brightly, “It’s a date.”


	3. Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to Your Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been two years since that fated flight when they met and Dean…
> 
> Dean is gonna be sick.
> 
> To distract himself, he pulls out his phone and sends Sam a quick message. 
> 
> 'this is a horrible idea why did you let me do this? you're supposed to be the smart one'

It’s been two years since that fated flight when they met and Dean…

Dean is gonna be sick.

To distract himself, he pulls out his phone and sends Sam a quick message. 

'this is a horrible idea why did you let me do this? you're supposed to be the smart one'

He doesn’t have to wait long for a reply.

‘ _Stop whining. This was your idea.”_

The little ping his phone makes when it arrives makes Cas glance at him with a questioning look from the seat next to his, but Dean successfully distracts him by bringing him close to steal a quick kiss. Cas smiles a little and goes back to reading his awfully huge (boring) book on ancient cultures (seriously, he’s seen five year olds smaller than the damned thing) that Sammy gave him last Christmas. 

'shut up bitch. we're taking off gotta turn this thing off'

'Jerk.  _Good luck!_ ' 

Dean checks to make sure the thing’s really off before stuffing it in his pocket, and then he’s officially out of distractions to keep him from thinking about what he  _willingly_  got himself into. The plane starts moving and Dean curses colorfully, squeezing the life out of the armrests, like they’ll ground him if he clings to them hard enough.

There’s the sound of a book being closed and then soft fingers are tracing gentle patterns on his arm, trying to get him to relax his grip, “Dean.” He only shakes his head in response and Cas shifts closer, wrapping a secure arm around him and nosing under his ear — which, totally unfair, that’s one of his favorite ‘Cas things’ and he shouldn’t be doing it while Dean is… incapacitated, “I’m right here.”

The words and the closeness don’t make his fear magically disappear, but something in his chest loosens as he lets himself lean against his boyfriend, taking a deep breath and inhaling that comforting scent of woods and pine and old books.

Dean takes one of Cas’ hand in his and squeezes it gently. A quiet ‘thank you’.  
  
The plane takes off.

Halfway through their flight (Dean would know — he’s been monitoring the map screen for the better part of an hour, trying to mentally convince that tiny, pixeled plane to move along the Atlantic… or to slow down, depending on when you ask him), Dean clears his throat and undoes his seat belt, cursing at his decision not to accept any of the alcohol that was offered to him during dinner because he could  _so_  use the liquid courage right now — freaking turbulence.   
  
Carefully (because Cas had been leaning mostly against him), he moves out into the aisle and, like clockwork, Cas’ arm comes up to search for his missing warmth, a sleepy frown settling on his face when it fails to find his objective, before he finally, slowly blinks himself awake, his voice a mixture of confusion and sleepiness that makes Dean want to sit back down and kiss him senseless, “Dean?”

But tempting though it may be, Dean’s a man on a mission.

… Though that doesn’t mean he can’t compromise. He squats in front of their seats and reaches forward to run his fingers through Cas’ soft, adorably disheveled hair, “Hey, sleepyhead.”  
  
Cas leans into the touch and murmurs sleepily, his frown getting more pronounced by the second, “What are you doing?” He sits up a bit straighter, rubbing at his eyes, “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?”

Cas looks like he’s about to get up and haul him to the bathroom, so Dean laughs and shakes his head, reaching for one of Cas’ hands and kissing the back of it gently, “Hey, no. No, I swear. I’m 100% fine.”

His boyfriend doesn’t look too convinced, and Dean’s gotta hand it to him — he knows him well, “Okay, so I still think we’re two seconds away from dying, but that’s not why I woke you.”

That only makes Cas look more confused, “No?”

Dean presses his forehead against Cas’ hand for a second, drawing strength from it as he takes a deep breath, eyes lifting to meet Cas’.

"Cas," He pauses, swallowing, mortified and nervous and scared for his life, but more terrified of what comes next, "the reason we’re on this damned metal deathtrap is that, exactly two years ago, while we were flying over this very same spot, you kissed me to keep me from having a panic attack."

He pauses to glance at the map on the big screen.

"… Okay, more like the spot we were on ten minutes ago. I got… delayed." By which he means he was busy trying to fight back his most recent panic attack after they hit some turbulence. But no way is he gonna say that out loud,  _hah_.

Cas is just staring at him, wide eyed and confused, but knowing better than to interrupt Dean, for which he’s very grateful.

"But anyway," He clears his throat and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small box and purposely keeping his eyes on it, unable to bring himself to look at Cas while he says this, "You know I’m no good at speeches and that sorta thing. But," He takes a deep breath, "you and me… we’ve got something good, you know? But that’s not all, I—" The plane gives a tiny lurch and Dean has to take a deep breath to keep himself from calling it quits, his free hand grabbing the armrest near him in a white knuckled grip for support, "I need you in my life, Cas. Always." He forces himself to look up, hoping against all hope that Cas understands what he isn’t able to put into words, "I can’t imagine needing anyone else the same way I need you." He opens the ring box and offers it up to the other man, lowering his voice, "I wanna wake up next to you til we’re both as old as those stupid dusty books you love so much."

And… now Dean just wants to hurl himself out of a window, because Cas is just sitting there staring at him and, oh god, this was such a bad plan, he’s such an idiot, he should’ve—

Before he can finish his thought there’s a hand encircling his wrist and tugging him up with surprising strength, and Dean yelps as he finds himself halfway draped over Cas, who clearly doesn’t give a fuck because he’s too busy holding Dean’s head still so he can kiss him senseless and — okay, Dean can get with the program — he can even ignore the clapping he hears in the background, because if he thinks too much about that he’s gonna get embarrassed and  _who cares because Cas said yes (o_ r at least implied it very strongly with his tongue) and this stupid trip was totally worth it.

Later, (after another embarrassed flight attendant has to come and separate them — which totally wasn’t his fault, okay? Cas was the one trying to climb onto his lap) they’ll both end up on their hands and knees, looking for the ring box Cas dropped in the middle of his enthusiastic attempts to kiss the life out of Dean. 

They’ll find it, though.

And maybe Dean will still be scared to death of flying… But, hey, as long as Cas is there with him?

It’ll be worth it.


End file.
